bittersweet
by AtLoLevad
Summary: Arya and Gendry's oldest son is ready to get married. Arya is surprisingly sentimental about it.


"Mother?"

Arya looks up from the accounts book, a faint smile on her face. Durran's voice is so much like Gendry's, sometimes she mistakes one for the other. Father and son are practically identical, the resemblance only growing stronger as Durran aged.

"Mhm?" she hums, setting down her pen and gesturing to the chair opposite hers. Durran shakes his head - he can't sit.

"I need to talk to you," he says seriously, his brow furrowed. He twists his hands together, a nervous habit he developed as a child. Arya smiles to herself at the gesture - she can remember him as a little boy, twisting his hands as she asked who ripped the tapestry of Orys Baratheon and Rhaella Targaryen in the corridor.

It's been so long since then, now her little boy is a man grown. Newly eight and ten, Durran's just as tall as Gendry and working on being as broad. He's smart and well-spoken, temperamental and fearless. It makes Arya a little sad to think how fast time went.

"Well, go on then," she says, smiling. "Must be serious if you need to pace."

Because Durran's been walking back and forth in front of her desk as he talked. Now, he stops, frowning.

"I'm ready to be married," he says firmly, a little stiffly, as if he expects her to say no, to laugh at him. Arya has to bite her cheek - he sounds so much like Robb in this moment and she misses her brother.

"Okay," she says easily. She and Gendry had agreed - their children wouldn't be forced into marriage before they were ready, nor would they be used as pawns in games of alliances. It was up to each of them to decide when they wanted to be married. Arya knew Gendry secretly hoped that the girls would never marry and stay at Storm's End forever - daddy's girls, the lot of them. He'd also laid down the hammer when it came to sex before marriage - the oldest ones knew he had been a bastard before the Dragon Queen legitimized him and understood his firm command that none of them would father or carry bastard children. Quietly, Arya agreed with him, standing at his side and allowing him to take the lead on that particular lecture. She knew what Gendry's lowborn birth had done to his self-worth as a young man and she wasn't about to argue with him.

"Have you got an idea of you you'd like to marry, or should your father and I pluck someone out of the crowd?" Arya teases, even as her stomach clenches at the thought of her first babe getting married and leaving home.

Durran gives her a look and rolls his eyes. Arya laughs outright at that, enjoying the way his ears flush red when he's embarrassed just like Gendry. "I'll have you know, your father and I have been knocking the lords away," she teases, "Suddenly everyone's got daughters of marriageable age."

"Mother," Durran groans, exasperated, and Arya wonders, not for the first time, when she became "mother" and stopped being "mama." It's a hard adjustment, especially since over the decades, she's learned to let go of her Faceless Man training and let her human emotions win out again.

"Sorry, sorry," she says, not at all contrite. "Who's the lucky lady?"

"Lyarra Manderly," her son replies, a moony look in his blue eyes. He smiles softly and looks so startlingly like Gendry that Arya gasps a little. Durran looks over at her and she gives him a bittersweet little smile.

"You're very much your father's son, Durran," she laughs. "He looks at me much the same way - as if I hung the stars."

"She's smart and beautiful and fierce," Durran grins, leaning his hands on the back of a chair.

"Aye," Arya nods, "the Manderlys are a good family. Northern through and through. Seems some of my Stark blood penetrated that stubborn Baratheon blood after all. I wasn't aware that you knew of Lady Lyarra."

"We met when we were visiting Aunt Sansa," Durran says, finally stepping around and dropping into the chair. Now that he had revealed his secret, he wasn't so full of restless energy. "I danced with her and I knew. We've been sending ravens for months."

"Ah," Arya hums in understanding. "Does your father know? Does _her_ father know?"

Durran scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "I'm going to tell Father when he gets back with Da."

It should only be a few more hours before Gendry and Davos returned from the shipyard - inspecting the progress of the newly built ships. Arya had wanted to go with them, but instead remained behind to handle the petitions for the day. She smiles to herself when she imagines both men's faces at Durran's announcement. They'll both be thrilled. A small part of her is over the moon that Durran sought her out first to tell her of his intentions. He will always be her first born, the babe that showed her she could be a mother. Seven hells, she's emotional about this.

Arya stands and comes around the table. She leans down - only slightly, Durran's nearly eye level with her when he's sitting and she's standing, damn giant Baratheons - and cups his cheeks in her hands. The faint beginnings of a beard scratch her palms and tears prick at her eyes. "I am so very proud of you, my little wolf," the old nickname falls easily from her lips even though he hasn't been 'little' in years. "You'll make Lyarra a fine husband and you'll be a wonderful lord of Storm's End one day. It's so hard to look at you now and not picture the tiny babe of three that cried at thunder and snuck off to the kitchens for sweets."

Laughing a little, Durran gives his mother a bright smile. "Love you, mama."

Arya presses a kiss to the top of his head, blinking away the moisture in her eyes. "You will be the one to speak to Lord Manderly about the betrothal," she teases affectionately.

"Of course, mother," Durran retorts and then there's commotion in the hall, most likely signalling Gendry and Davos's return. Arya tilts her head to gesture at the door and Durran nods. He jumps up from his chair, sparing a quick hug for his mother before going off in search of his father.

Arya watches him leave, a bittersweet sense of loss settling over her heart.

* * *

Gendry and Arya don't have a moment alone until they're getting ready for bed later that night.

"Durran spoke to you?" Gendry asks, climbing into bed. He leans back against the mound of feather pillows, sweating a little from the humidity. He brushes a hand through his hair - longer than usual and shot through with bits of grey. Arya loves the grey, loves the lines by his eyes and on his forehead. He looks even more rugged, more like an adult, and more than that, they're a sign that they've both survived.

"He did," Arya replies, pulling a thin tunic over her head and slipping under the covers as well. She rolls onto her side, hand propping up her head, and she watches Gendry.

"Our boy, someone's husband," Gendry shakes his head in disbelief, his features flitting through a handful of expressions. It settles on a faint frown, but his eyes are soft and a little sad. "Seven help the poor girl," he jokes.

"I know," she looks up at him, ignoring his jest "It feels like just yesterday he and Nourah were sneaking off to trick Hot Pie into giving them sweets."

Gendry brushes his hand over her cheek and nods. The crease in her brow tells him that Arya's probably thinking the same thing he is - they've gotten old. Time has passed at an unfathomable speed. He had truly thought they had another year or so before Durran really expressed an interest in marriage. The daughters of the Stormlords had all started hanging around Durran at feasts when he was but six and ten - as tall as Gendry, but skinny and gangly. But up until the incident with Lady Mya Connington after which Gendry had laid down the law about sex before marriage, Durran had been happy to practice his sword fighting and his diplomacy skills.

"We're old, Gendry," Arya laughs lightly. She curls closer to him and he slides down to wrap his arms around her back.

"Who's old?" he teases. "I'm still in the forge twice a week and holding you up against walls more than that."

His wife pinches his bicep, but they're both laughing.

"Nourah will be next," Arya sighs after a moment, "and then the twins and none of them are babes anymore. When did that happen?"

"Shireen is seven," Gendry points out rationally, "it will be years before she thinks of boys as more than good for besting in horse races." He pauses and then mutters, "I hope," under his breath.

"She's still not a babe," Arya replies, feeling a little silly. "She's got her own opinions and a voice and only calls us mama and papa when she's feeling unwell."

Her voice grows smaller as she speaks, entirely unused to the surprisingly sympathetic feelings towards her own mother who hadn't lived to see her children grown. Her hand splays our against Gendry's chest, the steady beating of his heart under her palm working to calm her down.

Gendry, sensing that Arya's close to shutting her emotions off, rolls onto his back, pulling Arya along so she winds up straddling him, her knees resting on the mattress on either side of his hips. She laughs and grins down at him, steadying herself with her palms against his chest.

"I would be very happy to put another babe in you, milady," Gendry grins wickedly, gripping her hips tightly.

"No more!" Arya commands, laughing. "I've had enough babes for many lifetimes. Besides, I'm well past my child-bearing years."

"A shame," Gendry murmurs lowly, one hand sliding from her hip up to the front of her belly. "Seeing you heavy with my babes was always a wonder." He smirks, "Not to mention your heightened arousal."

Arya gives a little wiggle, pressing down on his hardening cock. "Just because we're old now doesn't mean I'm ready to stop fucking you, Lord Baratheon."

Laughing, Gendry pulls Arya's face down to his so he can kiss her. She rests her forearms on either side of his head and spreads out across his chest. Gendry's other hand loops over her hip and splays our against her lower back. They kiss lazily, barely breaking apart for air. Arya's legs tangle with Gendry's, her feet brushing against his shins.

Finally, Arya pulls back, brushing her nose against her husband's and resting her forehead against his. She closes her eyes and savors the moment.

"I truly can't believe I'm old enough to have a son ready for marriage," she whispers against Gendry's mouth. "I never thought I'd live this long."

"I'm very glad you did," Gendry replies quietly, his fingers flexing against her back.

Arya drops her head to his chest, tucking it under his chin. "Me too."

* * *

_A/N: i've been poking at this for a bit - slow going since studying takes up all of my time haha. but i really liked the idea of arya getting sentimental because their kids are growing up. i enjoyed writing this and i hope you guys enjoy reading it!_

_drop me a review or prompts or just come chat :)_


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